


Growing

by RaeDMagdon



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Emotional, F/F, Face Sitting, Fingering, Fluffy, Hurt/Comfort, ME3, Minor Angst, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22177585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Jack is suddenly, intensely glad she never made a move on Miranda aboard the SR-2. They were both worse people then, all wrong for each other in every possible way. But now, the people they’ve become are surprisingly… compatible?
Relationships: Jack | Subject Zero/Miranda Lawson
Comments: 59
Kudos: 383





	Growing

Miranda Lawson has perfect thighs. Long, lean, and beautifully toned, they’re even more perfect pressed against Jack’s cheeks, twitching with each stroke of her tongue. Miranda’s hips roll desperately against Jack’s mouth, searching for “More!”—more that Jack tries her best to provide, with all the enthusiasm she can muster. (A lot, as it turns out. The imminent destruction of the galaxy is a pretty good motivator.)

She’s thought about doing this, of course. A more violent version, at least. She’s imagined peeling Miranda out of her ridiculously tight catsuit. Pulling her hair. Forcing her to kneel. Grinding against those perfectly plush lips. She’s daydreamed about bending Miranda over her desk and teaching her a lesson with the palm of her hand, back aboard the SR-2. Finding out for herself how much force it takes to turn that gorgeous ass red.

But reality is nothing like those fantasies. Jack’s hair is longer now, but Miranda isn’t yanking in return. Just gripping, like she’ll shake apart if she lets go. And Jack isn’t making Miranda kneel, or forcing her to bend over anything. They’re stretched out on a comfortable bed in the guest room of Shepard's apartment, like they’re lovers or something, instead of two fucked up people searching for some kind of respite before the end comes.

“Jack…”

 _Fuck. Even my name sounds perfect when she says it._ Hearing Miranda use her name encourages her even more than the insistent fingers roaming her scalp. _Damn right, Cheerleader. You can’t forget who’s doing this to you. Who’s about to make you come your brains out._

The uneven jerks of Miranda’s pelvis signal that she’s close, and Jack has enough experience with women to hazard a guess about what will push her over the edge. She rakes her nails down Miranda’s thigh, then slides two fingers beneath her own chin, pushing inside while rolling her tongue against the swollen bud of Miranda’s clit.

Miranda’s response is immediate. She stiffens, then cries out, coming with a wordless groan. Her inner walls flutter wildly around Jack’s fingers, clenching as Jack curls forward. It doesn’t take much searching to find the right spot, because Miranda goes rigid all over again, gasping as a flood of wet heat pours down Jack’s wrist.

Feeling Miranda come in her hand, in her mouth, is a hundred times better than she imagined. She’d expected a rush of power—and it’s definitely there. Miranda is a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, and to have all that strength at her mercy makes Jack feel drunk on control. But there’s something else, too. Something deeper. It hitches in her chest as Miranda’s ass finally hits the mattress, and her hand loosens its hold, trailing down Jack’s cheek with surprising tenderness.

“Should’ve done this sooner,” Miranda mumbles, her words slurred.

Jack smirks, running her tongue over her lips. Miranda’s taste lingers there, evidence of her victory. “Fucked a woman?”

“Slept with _you.”_ Miranda arches an eyebrow, sitting up slightly. “And what makes you think I haven’t been with women before?”

“The fact that you’re so impressed, and we’ve barely gotten started.”

To her surprise, Miranda smiles. Not a cold, insincere smile, either—a soft, warm one that makes Jack’s stomach do a backflip. “Perhaps _you’re_ impressive,” Miranda says, shaking her dark, wavy hair off her forehead, where it’s started to cling. Somehow, the light layer of sweat only makes her look sexier.

Jack blinks. Maybe that’s what’s so fucking attractive about Miranda, despite how infuriating she can be. She never says what Jack’s expecting to hear. No one’s outright said she’s impressive before, especially as a lover. Most people, even at Grissom, tend to complain about her faults instead of highlighting her accomplishments. They say, ‘Stop swearing so much!’ instead of, ‘You’re doing a great job with the kids, you know?’

A couple years ago, she wouldn’t have believed Miranda’s praise. She would’ve assumed it was some kind of mockery, or an attempt at manipulation. But she’s learned a lot from Shepard, and from her kids, who actually _are_ impressed by her on a daily basis. This time, she’s ready to take Miranda at her word. “Thanks.”

Miranda’s piercing blue eyes lock with hers. “I intend to repay you with more than compliments.” She scoots down the mattress, forcing Jack to sit up and make room, then lies back again, crooking a finger in invitation. “Why don’t you get comfortable and find out whether I’ve been with a woman before or not?”

It’s an invitation Jack has no intention of refusing. She prowls over Miranda’s body, past her flat stomach and those obnoxiously pert breasts, and kneels above her shoulders, already burning with anticipation. As she lowers her hips, Miranda rises to meet her, wrapping both hands around her thighs and guiding her down.

The first touch of Miranda’s tongue is masterful. There’s no uncertainty or hesitation. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and Jack groans as warm lips wrap around her clit, followed by a swirling tongue. She grits her teeth, but she can already tell holding off isn’t an option. Her attempts to make this last are doomed.

She curses under her breath, fisting the dark, silky locks of Miranda’s hair in an effort to regain some control—but that’s useless, too. Miranda remains soft and pliable beneath her, even as her mouth threatens to unmake everything Jack is. To tear down every wall she’s ever built. And when Miranda’s lips release her clit to make way for her tongue, which pushes inside…

“Fucking _shit,_ Princess.” The old insult slips out accidentally, reborn as an affectionate nickname, and Jack is too overwhelmed by pleasure to be embarrassed.

Miranda doesn’t pause, but she makes her approval known by thrusting her tongue as deep as possible. Jack gasps, because the soft probing is a hundred times better than the rough, borderline painful sex she’d imagined they’d indulge in tonight. Maybe later, but for now, this is exactly right. It’s so damn nice, having sex with someone who wants to make her feel good, despite their rocky history.

As Jack fears, it ends far too soon. She can’t protect herself from Miranda’s slow, thorough assault on her senses, and she comes with an unwilling grunt, still clutching Miranda’s hair and bucking into her mouth. Miranda’s lips capture her clit again, sucking hard enough to draw Jack’s spasms out for a good thirty seconds. It’s a long orgasm, and a satisfying one. Maybe the most satisfying she’s ever had.

Unable to take any more, she collapses, shifting her quivering hips away from Miranda’s mouth. Miranda responds with a muffled whimper of disappointment, so Jack kisses her, even though they haven’t kissed at all so far—and she doesn’t regret it one bit. They taste like each other, and the salty heat makes her head spin and her heart pound, even while she’s coming down from her high.

“Fuck,” Miranda sighs when they finally break apart. Her blue eyes look more dazed than Jack has ever seen them, glassy with lust.

Jack snorts. “Fuck you too, then.”

“No, I—” Miranda rolls her eyes, regaining some of her usual sternness. “Just shut your mouth and enjoy the moment, will you?”

Jack makes a show of clamping her mouth shut, but she doesn’t withdraw. Instead, she indulges in something she rarely allows herself to enjoy. She flops on top of Miranda’s prone form and snuggles up to her. _Just for a minute,_ she tells herself. _While we recover._

But one minute passes, then two, and Jack finds she doesn’t have the willpower to pull away. She wants to stay here, in Miranda’s arms, while Miranda’s fingers trace idly over the tattoos on her back. Tattoos Jack knows Miranda can’t actually see, from her current position, but which her fingers seem content to chart anyway.

“We can’t tell Shepard,” Miranda says after a while.

“Why not? You embarrassed?”

“Not in the least. But she’ll tease you.”

“Me?” Jack asks, more than a little dumbfounded. “You’re worried about me?”

Miranda’s brow furrows, a tiny flaw on her otherwise perfect face. “Does that surprise you?”

A lump rises in Jack’s throat. She could spill her guts. Tell Miranda that no one except Shepard ever worries about her. In fact, most people go out of their way to make her miserable. But she doesn’t need to. Miranda’s read her file. Miranda’s lived aboard a ship with her. Miranda already knows the answer to her own question.

“I don’t give a fuck what you do or don’t tell Shepard,” Jack mumbles, resting her cheek flat on Miranda’s shoulder. “If she bugs me, I’ll deck her.”

“No you won’t.”

“What, you think I’ve gone soft?”

“You’ve never been soft,” Miranda murmurs into her hair. “But you are different.”

“Different?”

“Less angry. More focused. It’s a good thing, Jack.”

“Less of a hot fucking mess, you mean.”

That earns her a laugh. “Yes. Less of a hot fucking mess. But we were all broken before we met Shepard, weren’t we? You aren’t the only one.”

Jack blinks. She hasn’t thought about it that way. Her own personal growth, the Reaper war, and her students at Grissom have taken up most of her mental bandwidth. But Miranda’s right. She isn’t the same stuck-up, pain-in-the-ass Cerberus bitch who constantly made Jack’s life aboard the SR-2 worse. She’s quieter, more reserved, but also nicer. More empathetic.

“Guess we never finish growing up,” Jack says, for lack of a better response.

“Guess not.”

Jack is suddenly, intensely glad she never made a move on Miranda aboard the SR-2. They were both worse people then, all wrong for each other in every possible way. But now, the people they’ve become are surprisingly… compatible? More alike than they are different. It’s not something she anticipated, or even imagined, but it’s there all the same, adding an extra layer of _something_ to their recent interactions.

Something she already finds herself craving more of.

“When do you leave?” she asks.

“Oh, I have a few things to do.”

“Fires to put out?”

“I suppose. You?”

“I’ve got another day and a half," Jack says. "Then it’s back to my kids.”

Miranda falls into thoughtful silence. “I could spare a day.”

It’s embarrassing, Jack thinks, how fast her hope rises, forming a knot in her throat. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I’d offer to take you to my favorite restaurant, so we can catch up with our clothes on, but…”

Jack barks with laughter. “Wait, don’t tell me. Your favorite food is sushi?”

Miranda gives a long-suffering sigh. “No, but my favorite restaurant used to serve sushi, before Shepard discovered it…”

This time, they both laugh. Jack stops counting the seconds, debating how long she can afford to remain in Miranda’s arms without making herself seem obnoxiously needy. She relaxes, and soon they’re kissing again, hands roaming freely as they find a comfortable nest amidst the wrinkled sheets.


End file.
